


Whiskey Bright Carnations

by Patchcat



Series: Sarcasm and Sass [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: mating_games, Gen, past canon character death, stillinski feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 22:53:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patchcat/pseuds/Patchcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He really should have realized.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey Bright Carnations

**Author's Note:**

> I'd apologize in advance, but really? I regret nothing. What I do apologize for is the lack of identifiers -- why you have no first name yet, Sheriff-dude?! -- but hopefully it's be pretty obvious who "he" is. Also, also? First TW thing. God help me.
> 
> Written for the Week 1 Bonus Challenge over at Mating_Games. Theme was birthdays.

He should have know by the smell of fresh baked blueberry muffins and maple bacon that wafted from the kitchen. Should have realized when he walked into the kitchen to see Stiles in a frilly apron, pulling the muffins from the oven while keeping a watchful eye on the sizzling skillet on the stove. Something really should have clicked when his usually gregarious son didn't say more than "Good morning" and "The butter's on the table" when he opened the fridge to pull it out.

The thing is, none of that registered. Not even when his son wrapped him up in a long, hard hug and whispered "Be careful today. Please." His head was too full of his current case, a missing young woman and a distraught family pressing for answers.

It was the surprise on Marge's face as he entered the station and headed for his office that finally made him stop and think for a bit.

"Oh, Sheriff!" she said, looking up from stirring her coffee. "Wasn't expecting to see you today." Marge lay her hand across his arm, squeezing it gently before letting go. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he responded, his brow furrowed. "Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, it has only been -- Well. I just expected you'd want a little time to yourself," Marge replied with a sad smile. "Maybe be with your boy for a bit, you know?" With another pat to his arm and a bob of her head, she turned and headed back to the dispatch desk. "It's good to see you today, though."

The Sheriff made his way into his office and looked down at his calendar as he walked behind his desk. It was a good thing his chair was there to meet him as he crumpled. How could he have forgotten?

Rubbing his hand over his face, he stared unseeing at the photo sitting in the corner of his desk. It was momento of a similar day: Stiles and his mother in silly party hats with a cake -- split down the middle and each side carefully decorated -- between them, ready to blow out the fire hazard of candles. He smiled as the memory of their laughter washed over him. That had been one of the best days, blueberry muffins for mom and maple bacon for Stiles for breakfast and laughter and smiles for all of them.

He lost himself in memories then; other birthdays, other happy times. He reached out and stroked his finger down the glass before standing and walking back out of his office. "Marge," he said, his voice thick with past sadness. "Think I'll be taking today off after all. Hold anything that's not life or death, yeah?"

Marge nodded, that sad smile even sadder as she watched him walk away. "You take care, now. Give that boy a good, strong hug, ya hear?"

Nodding back, he made his way out to his cruiser and headed down the familiar roads, making a brief stop before turning down a gravel drive that held so much sorrow. Later, he would head to the grocery store and pick up everything needed to make Stiles his birthday dinner -- steak burgers and curly fries -- but for now a bottle of whiskey and a bunch of brightly colored carnations were all he needed.

A short drive later, he sat down in the freshly cut grass, laid the flowers across her gravestone, and poured himself a shot. He tossed it back, let the glass hang from his fingers, and watched the wind blow through the trees. "Happy birthday, baby. I miss you."


End file.
